O Magnum Mysterium
by Cass Mitchell
Summary: Roxas Lauridsen has been offered an olive branch in the form of a lesser sentence than one that might have been given to another Death Eater. As she returns to her Eighth year at Hogwarts, the walls between not only Houses, but the Light and Dark sides, are slowly torn down. As are those between herself and Draco Malfoy. WARNING: Explicit language, substance abuse, sexual content.
1. Prologue: The End

The courtyard was on fire, the black smoke curling, billowing, thick in the night sky, obscuring the few bright pinpoint stars splattered like paint across the night sky.

_Hogwarts is burning, _I thought dimly, before a blood-curdling shriek drew me out of my reverie and away from the choking black smoke that engulfed the buildings around me.

I saw a body.

I saw a few.

I stepped over a body and tripped over another to reach that scream's source: dirty blond curls surrounded a heart-shaped, sooty face that pressed itself against the brick wall. Lavender Brown, cornered by a man who'd never cease to make my skin crawl.

Fenrir Greyback, his mouth stained crimson with blood.

Time slowed down as I realized what would transpire here.

I was suddenly, _painfully,_ aware of my left arm, and what it would look like if I did this, but it was the lesser of two evils and I'd seen too many mangled throats already tonight.

I could not hope to stop him, but I could spare her that agony.

The whispered spell had barely spilled from my lips as the sickly green light erupted from the tip of my raised wand.

Would you consider it a mercy killing?


	2. Chapter 1: Vanquish

I sat in a dumb silence as the trial proceeded heatedly over my head.

I tried to knot my fingers together in my lap. This did not work, because I'd forgotten that my wrists were shackled to the arms of the high-backed, black chair I sat in, like I was a wild animal and not a teenage girl, with my left sleeve rolled up, forearm exposed for all the Wizengamot to see.

I was dimly aware of the shouted cross-examination over my head, but I was just so _grateful _to be out of my damn cell that I was only half listening.

"She killed-!"

"She _stopped-_"

"_Please _let her finish, Ravel!"

"The girl's a Death Eater-"

"She's just a _teenager-_!"

"Old enough to make her own choice-!"

The smacking of a gavel made me jump a mile; suddenly, the courtroom was silent. I peered at the Wizengamot assembled around me, studied their faces. Mixed among these were looks of anger, concern, disgust...even a little amusement at the battle for wills that had just taken place between a particularly sour-faced member of the Wizengamot and a witness for the defense, unseen and therefore unknown by me- I couldn't turn around and face behind me.

Minister Shacklebolt- _Order of the Phoenix, _I remembered grimly- was looking over at the defense's box. I wanted suddenly, desperately to know who was fighting in my defense.

Who would ever?

"What say you, Minerva?" Shacklebolt asked tiredly.

_Professor McGonagall?_

"She was just a child," a quiet voice floated above. "They all were, and yet they've been held in Azkaban for ten weeks already."

Ah, we the Death Eaters. Who were _they?_ I wasn't aware that joining the side of the Dark Lord had been a cool thing to do at Hogwarts. I only knew of a few.

"You'll keep a careful eye?" Shacklebolt asked.

"They made some bad choices," McGonagall replied. "They deserve another chance. I can help if they will also help themselves."

Shacklebolt pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't make me regret this."

"You won't," I could practically _hear _McGonagall's eyes harden.

"I believe that a lifelong probation," Shacklebolt's deep voice rang across the courtroom. "with a twenty-five year Azkaban term if breached, along with a mandatory year spent at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as Headmistress McGonagall has suggested, will be sufficient to encourage Miss Lauridsen and all of our other underage trials to keep their noses clean. All in favour?"

The hands were hesitantly raised, but once raised, they were clear.

"Then by the order of the Ministry," Shacklebolt declared. "I sentence these to Roxas Lauridsen, and any other Death Eater trials within her category. They will be held here, at the Ministry, for the remaining three weeks before the beginning of the school year, and then transported to King's Cross directly from here," he smacked his gavel once for solidarity. "Case dismissed."

And with that, Shacklebolt exited the courtroom, his robes fluttering in his wake, as well as excited chatter.

Suddenly, the Azkaban guard who'd escorted me here was at my side.

"It's better here than in Azkaban, kid," he whispered hurriedly. "Keep your head down. Don't come back to visit us again, yes?"

The first and only person to outright tell me that they didn't want me back in Azkaban.

I felt myself being unchained numbly, before comprehension dawned.

_Free. _


	3. Chapter 2: Catalyst

I was removed from my Ministry holding cell (luxurious compared to Azkaban) at ten in the morning by an Auror with a decidedly permanent sneer etched into his rather pudgy face. I just barely managed to keep up with him, my legs still a bit weak from weeks of _not moving, _and he grabbed my arm in Side-Along Apparation without a word.

Apparation still turned my stomach. I was clutching the stomach in question as the Auror smirked, and held out a gold key.

We were in front of my parent's mansion, I realize.

"You've got ten minutes, Lauridsen," he barked, thrusting the key into my hand, and then holding out my wand. I reached to take it from him, but he held it just out of reach. "No funny business, or I'll have you back in that pretty cell of yours for a _long _time."

He handed my wand to me then. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, and approached the wooden doors, pressing the key into the lock and turning, the lock clicking underneath my hand.

It was my experience with the correctional services provided (_Provided. _How gut-wrenchingly thoughtful) by the Ministry that one could be able to successfully guess the blood status of a guard/ Auror/ what have you based on how they treat their inmates. Snarling Auror plus acquitted Death Eater surely calculated to liberal Muggleborn, even if my math was a little rusty.

At least he was upholding my request to have ten minutes alone in my own house. Merlin knows he could flat-out refuse and stomp his way through my childhood home and I'd have nought to say about it.

That was likely the victory in itself- making the formers squirm.

I pushed open one of the paneled double doors and walked into the dark foyer of my house for the first time in months.

The Ministry had raided the house thoroughly- everything was _mostly _back to order, but the errant discarded paper and mislaid piece of furniture gave them away. I peeked through the French doors of my father's study, thinking that if the rooms were prey to the Ministry's hunt, this room was a carcass stripped bare, ribs open to the sky.

Anything to knock down my father's appeals and pleas, not that they would be remembered for holding much water in the first place.

I climbed the grand marble staircase, feeling the smooth stone under my hands for- likely- the last time. Partially because I could already feel my legs burning in exhaustion but mostly because once I left this house, I intended never to come back.

Really, I could have done so much worse than a lifetime of probation and a mandatory Eighth year at Hogwarts. That was _nothing _compared to the personal hells that had surely been prepared for the remaining Death Eaters- any and all that hadn't died or fled after the war.

My mother died in the Battle of Hogwarts. Daddy Dearest faced his death sentence while I was incarcerated.

Karma's a bitch.

The floor-to-ceiling windows on the second floor allowed the rising sun's rays to creep across the dark wooden floor, reaching to my slightly-ajar bedroom door, which I pushed open with three fingertips. The door gave way easy on its hinges- good charms intended to keep the house squeaky-clean, hold the squeaky.

My room had been picked clean of papers, journals, photographs- even my bookshelf was bare. My sixteen-year-old self would have been seething.

My eighteen-year-old self didn't give a damn.

I pulled open the bottom left-hand drawer on my desk. _Aha- _the false bottom was still there. I lifted it up, crossing my mental fingers, to find that my four pouches, filled to the brim with hoarded allowances and birthday gifts, were still inside.

My miserable existence brightened considerably. I had _money_- money that the Ministry couldn't withhold, indefinitely or at all. Lucky, lucky me.

I found my large kit bag in the corner of my room and quickly transferred the four pouches into the side pocket, zipping it shut. Money. What else?

_Clothes, _I thought, feeling stupid. Of course clothes. I threw open the wardrobe doors, suddenly aware of the limited time I had here, and assembled an acceptable arsenal of shirts, trousers, pajamas and underwear to last me the year at Hogwarts. I took my old Slytherin robes and tie off of their hangers and laid all of these into the kit bag, pressing down firmly with my hands in an attempt to create more space. I took my bag into the attached bathroom and cleaned the underneath of my sink of all my toiletries and shoved those in the bag too, zipping it shut.

Then, I caught sight of myself in a mirror for the first time in months.

The first thing I thought was that while the Ministry's showers were acceptable in a pinch (as in, I wasn't going anywhere), I was in desperate need of Hogwart's showers, which I had resolved to stand under for a _long time. _My dark brown hair had reached just beyond my shoulders, and lay flat. I examined my right eye- there was the scar, from that piece of glass an unknown member of the Order used to hold me off. There was the cut on my lip from when I was a toddler and ran into the door. My eyes were a dull, clouded green, rather than the reasonably bright green they used to be.

I'd always been a bit thin, but I realized now that my bones were practically sticking out. I observed my ribs- each one clearly defined. Not something that a few weeks at Hogwarts couldn't fix- I found my mouth watering at the thought of real, actual, not-prison-made _food._

The zipper strained against the fabric, and pulled at my shoulder. Did I need anything else? I examined my watch and decided no, slinging the kit bag over my shoulder.

I bounded down the stairs and towards the foyer- back-tracking when I saw my father's liquor pantry. I turned and wrapped my hand around the doorknob, pulling it open.

Without turning on the light I closed my fingers around the first bottle they touched and pulled it out to examine it. Firewhiskey. Unopened.

Did I dare?

I pulled out my newly-acquired wand and transfigured it to look like a regular plastic water bottle.

Couldn't hurt.


	4. Chapter 3: Enigma

"We've taken the liberty of collecting your train ticket," the Auror held out a slip of stiff paper with a look of unadultered disgust. I wasn't bothered by it, hadn't been for a long time. I'd learned early on that the less you spoke around the Aurors, the less likely they were to treat you like the Death Eater scum they think you are.

I checked my watch. Quarter to eleven. Unfortunately, I had to be escorted to the train.

"Roll up your left sleeve," the Auror commanded me. I sighed, and complied, turning up the sleeve on my clothes- the ones I'd had to give over to Azkaban when I was arrested, smelling slightly burnt and... was that blood in the corner of the sleeve? I didn't want to know- three times to expose my pale forearm.

The Dark Mark had faded a little, but anyone with eyes could tell exactly what it was, especially since I was being very obviously carted around by Ministry cronies, despite not wearing cuffs.

Have you ever read the Bible story about Moses and the Red Sea? That was what happened in King's Cross after we'd crossed onto Platform 9 3/4. Without commanding a word of God or otherwise I managed to cut a swath through the bustling witches and wizards, hurrying their children onto the train.

I tried to ignore it, but it was hard to block out the shouted protests.

"Why's she out? Why isn't she locked up?" A woman exclaimed fearfully, yanking her son away from me- _away, _like I was belladonna or, again, a wild animal, or something.

"Death Eater _whore," _someone spat at me. The Aurors were in place here at the station to prevent these kinds of outbursts, and wasn't mine just doing a wonderful job, saying nothing.

Someone's camera clicked feverishly. I groaned internally. I wouldn't put it past the _Daily Prophet_.

I began to see familiar faces- other Aurors- among the throng, They pushed their way through and took post in front of every door on the train.

To prevent us from getting out or them getting in, I didn't know, and wasn't about to ask. The Auror grasped my elbow tightly and somewhat shoved me towards the door, to face the Auror standing there.

"Any trouble, Auror Clarke?" The Auror at the door asked the Auror behind me. There were a _lot _of Aurors.

I watched Auror Clarke's lip curl. "Not yet."

"Name?" The other Auror asked me.

I swallowed. "Roxas," my voice was raw from underuse. "Roxas Lauridsen."

"Eighth year?"

I struggled to keep the glare off of my face. "_Yes." _

The Auror signed his slip of paper and handed it to Auror Clarke, who added this slip to what seemed to be a very thick file and grudgingly handed that to me. "This is for your Head of House," he told me, like explaining something to a small child. "This goes right into Professor McGonagall's hands."

McGonagall? "But I'm in Slytherin," I replied. I didn't get it. Call me dense.

The Auror looked at Auror Clarke, as if to say _of course. "_Professor McGonagall is the acting Head of House for all Eighth year students," he told me, like this was obvious. He stepped aside to allow me access to the train.

"If that doesn't get to the Headmistress," the Auror called after me as I boarded the train. "We'll _know, _Lauridsen." The door closed behind me.

"Fuck off," I said, and smiled, knowing they couldn't hear me.

The train pulled out of the station with a lurch. I slammed my left shoulder into the threshold, before realizing I could roll my sleeve down, which I did with relish. Curious, I opened the file.

The first paper on top was my Azkaban profile, mugshot attached. I read the red stamp.

_Extremely dangerous kill on sight- _

I shut the folder quickly. It wasn't like they could kill me on sight anymore.

I slid the folder into the remaining space in my scruffy kit bag and started to follow the narrow corridors, hoping for an empty compartment to sit in.

Then, I heard the shouting, the sound of hexes being flung from wands, hitting walls and- occasionally, the sharp cry indicating that a spell hit it's mark.

I dropped my bag and ran, hand on my wand.

I still don't know what I was thinking.

I pushed past a crowd of students to see several sixth-year Hufflepuffs backing two boys into a corner.

Two very familiar boys.

Blaise Zabini hadn't changed much, but the time in Azkaban had certainly hardened his face as he struggled to deflect the charms being cast at him. beside him stood Draco Malfoy, who, surprisingly, did not have a wand, and was attempting to block hexes with his arms to shield his face. The skin of his forearms was raw and bleeding. Stinging Hexes.

I yanked my wand out and pointed it straight at the Hufflepuff boy in front, marveling and cringing at how easy it was for me to take the offensive.

"Don't you dare," I said darkly, fixing him to the spot with the Lauridsen glare my mother was so famous for.

Slowly, the Hufflepuffs edged their way out of the compartment. Blaise stood up straight, brushing off his shirt and holding out his hand for Draco, who ignored it.

Blaise walked over to me and stood practically toe-to-toe with me, looking me up and down. I did the same. "Zabini," I said.

"Lauridsen," he replied. He burst into laughter and, as I grinned back, he reached out and embraced me.

"You have no _fucking _idea how good it is to see you back here!" he practically shouted in my ear. I laughed and pulled away. Draco was staring at us with narrowed eyes.

"Draco. Lauridsen. Yes?" Blaise's disjointed phrases seemed to be trying to tell Draco to stand down, but instead he just continued glaring at me.

"What?" I asked, tucking my wand back into the waistband of my jeans.

"We were handling it," he told me.

"Draco, come off it. We were not," Blaise seemed unsure of Draco's sudden mood. "It doesn't matter, they're only-"

"Hufflepuffs!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. This startled me a little. "Thank _Merlin_ we had Roxas here to save us from the _Hufflepuffs!" _

"Draco, you're acting really strange," Blaise told him. "What's the-"

"The big deal?" Draco asked, exasperated. "We can't even win a fight against _Hufflepuffs _now without help!"_  
_

"Who's going to know?" I asked. He turned to me.

"What?"

"I said," I crossed my arms. "Who is going to _know. _The Hufflepuffs know that they'll get in trouble for picking a fight with us. So, no one says anything, and it's _not a big deal. _Alright?"

Blaise nodded, and Draco folded his arms. I uncrossed mine.

"Draco, your arms are bleeding," Blaise told him, raising his wand. "Let me-"

"No," Draco shook his head.

"You're being stupid, just-"

"Here," I said suddenly, handing him my wand. "Do it yourself."

He took my wand in hand, and looked at me suspiciously.

"Go. Do it," I told him. "Before we're waiting here all day."

Draco pointed the wand at each arm, murmuring _Evanesco _as the skin stitched itself back together.

He handed the wand back to me, looking two steps shy of grateful.

"Roxas-" he began, but I cut him off.

"Don't get all sentimental on me," I put my hand up. "Now, will someone tell me where Pansy Parkinson is so I can hug the life out of that bitch?"

Draco looked behind me, and I realized we weren't alone.

Hermione Granger was standing behind me, holding my kit bag in one hand, eyebrow raised. "Yours?" She pointed to the embroidered _R _on the side.

I took it from her. "Thanks."

"Lauridsen," she greeted me with a nod.

I nodded back. "Granger."

"I'm glad to see you've been acquitted," she began, although I wasn't sure if she was actually glad or if she was just saying that because saying the opposite would have been too nasty for her filthy Muggle upbringing. "Harry wrote letters to Minister Shacklebolt for all of the trials in our year."

"And I suppose you want me to thank him?" I raised an eyebrow. I didn't care if Potter had personally pleaded my case for me, the last thing I'd do was _thank _him.

"No, I'm not going to make you," She said. I had to suppress my snort. _Like you could. _

"I'm only here to inform you two of the living arrangements and new plans for the Eighth years," Hermione continued, taking a tentative step towards us. I almost flinched, but I managed to stop myself.

"What about them?" Blaise looked like he wasn't any happier to be speaking to her than I was, and Draco was positively snarling.

"All of the Eighth years are no longer part of Houses," she turned her eyes ahead of her and walked in a sort of wide arc so she was standing in front of us and not beside us. She looked back up. "We'll all be living together in the West Tower. It's been turned into a living space with one girl's dormitory and one boy's dormitory. McGonagall thought it best to have us separate from the rest of the castle, for quiet and such."

"Quiet," I repeated. _Yeah, right. _

"Furthermore," Hermione turned her wand over in her hands, as a conversation placeholder. "We're required to spend one period each day with her in what she's calling 'teambuilding and rehabilitation'."

"Like Alcoholics Anonymous?" I asked, raising a brow.

Hermione smiled a little. That wasn't supposed to be funny, but that's Muggleborns for you.

"We're being graded in some way for it," Hermione shrugged, as if to say _I don't know why we're doing it either. _

"It's going on our permanent records?" Blaise asked. Hermione nodded. _Ah. _That's why McGonagall was doing it.

"You two should find your compartments," Hermione said, turning to leave the room. "It's a long way till we get there," she called over her shoulder.

"It's awesome you're here," Blaise said, sounding like a gleeful eight-year-old on Christmas morning. "The whole group is practically back."

"Yeah, I heard about Crabbe," I answered. Draco's breath hitched.

"Sorry," I told Draco who nodded but looked like he'd been winded. "So this team building thing…"

"McGonagall's trying to take the Ministry's eyes off of the Eighth years, prove we're good kids." I shrugged. "I don't know how well it'll do."

"She's got to try, hasn't she?" Blaise said reasonably, and held the compartment door open. "Come on. Draco and I were just heading to where all the other Slytherins are sitting."

I followed Blaise out the door, Draco close behind.


	5. Chapter 4: A Dotted Line

The Great Hall was considerably emptier than I'd ever seen it, even at Christmas. Though the war was over, the horrors that had taken place at Hogwarts had been enough to scare prospective students- and their parents- to magic schools that had not faced the darkness this one had.

That harboured the monsters that this one did.

There sat about fifteen Eighth year students- fifteen. Out of a class of more than one hundred.

I shuddered.

The staff table was likewise scant- the absences were strong across both teachers and students. Professor McGonagall looked confident sitting in the Headmistress' chair, but every so often I saw her eyes flicker over with worry, her slip assuring me that I was not the only one practically swimming in my fear of this hall.

It seemed that instead of sitting in Houses, the students were seated by year. Although the Eighth years were all bunched together at the end of what used to be the Ravenclaw table, the fifteen of us were huddled in our respective Houses, not really speaking to the others.

The former Slytherins sat as closely together as was comfortable (In this instance, Pansy sat on Blaise's lap), as though it would provide us with immunity. It was hard to ignore the distance created between the Eighth years of other Houses, and ours, nor was it difficult to notice the sneers they were throwing in our direction whenever it seemed fit. I'd sneak a look over every time Terry Boot's back was turned to get a glimpse of our new Housemates; every time I turned around, my hope of at least a tolerant atmosphere became more and more bleak.

The feast had long started, in silence and without announcement. I watched Professor McGonagall whisper to Professor Flitwick, and watched him whisper back.

Professor McGonagall stood up, her robes swishing around her, and clinked her glass with a fork.

There hadn't been a lot of chatter to start with, but now, the Hall was so quiet one could hear a pin drop as she began.

"Good evening, students," she said, her once-robust voice seeming to have lost a few inches of thickness in the stress of the war. "I am glad to welcome new students to Hogwarts," she smiled at the fifty-or-so First year students, "And returning students back," with this, she cast a meaningful look at the fifteen Eighth years at the back.

"This past year has not been easy for our world," she said, her voice ringing across the Hall like it had its own built-in _Sonorous _charm. "But as I stand before you, I'm reminded of second chances," she raised her arms as though to embrace the entire Hall, "and I am reminded of redemption."

Redemption. A word I'd had ping-ponging through my head for months. What I'd do if I got the chance. How I'd change if I could just go back.

Redemption was nothing but a fantasy. I'd easier find a diamond in the rough than a way to redeem myself of my transgressions.

I found myself locking eyes with Harry Potter, who nodded like he could read my mind before he broke my gaze.

"The Eighth year students will stay behind," she clapped her hands together, and the depleted platters of food disappeared. "The rest of the students will follow their prefects out of the Hall."

A rumble of sounds ensued as benches were pushed in, voices began speaking excitedly, and above it all, the House prefects calling for order. Slowly but surely, the Hall was emptied, and the fifteen of us remained.

McGonagall nodded to the staff, and one by one, they filed out, until it was just us, and the Headmistress.

McGonagall removed her glasses, pinched the bridge of her nose, and then settled her glasses back onto her face before speaking.

"Our first teambuilding session begins tonight."

The Great Hall was empty, the tables and benches dispatched and the candles flickering dim. McGonagall had seated us all in a circle, and she stood at the head of this circle, with her eyes closed.

"This war was particularly difficult for this year," McGonagall said, eyes still closed. We all looked at each other uncomfortably. "Students within this group were thrust into the front lines at seventeen," her eyes opened as she swept the circle with her gaze. "Sixteen…younger." She sat down, her robes settling around her.

"We're new people now, because of it. Changed, for better or for worse. I believe," she looked at all of us again. "That you should all reintroduce yourselves to this group."

"What, like, our names?" Dean Thomas asked her, confused.

McGonagall nodded. "Precisely. Would anyone like to start? Mr Thomas?"

Thomas looked around and swallowed. "Well I'm Dean," he said quietly. "Dean Thomas. Former Gryffindor," he looked at Weasley. "You're up, mate."

And so we went, around the circle, and then it reached Draco, the first of the Slytherins.

The first of the Death Eaters and the Death Eater sympathizers.

"Mr Malfoy," she barked, seeming eager to get the circle moving again.

Draco looked around the group like a caged animal.

"I'm…" he faltered as he became fixed with harsh eyes. I knew he'd been seen as the worst, no matter who went first. His eyes narrowed into slits, and he stood up.

"This is bollocks," he said, and turned on his heel, storming out.

"What's your dad got to say about this one, Malfoy?" Seamus Finnigan shouted angrily after him as the door slammed shut, reverberating around the whole Hall.

"Mr Finnigan, that's not helpful," McGonagall said calmly. "I knew he was a long shot anyways."

"He's just a bloody cowardly git," Finnigan muttered under their breath. Blaise got his back up.

"You'd better hold your tongue, _Finnigan"- _

"What're you going to do, Zabini? Curse me?"

"You'd better hope that's not all I do," Blaise snarled, and Finnigan lunged.

The circle erupted into chaos- Pansy shrieking, the Gryffindors shouting and Theo and I trying to yank Blaise out from underneath Seamus, who was jabbing his wand into his neck and shouting, pinning him to the floor. McGonagall was panicking.

"Mr Finnigan! Mr- _Mister Finnigan!_" she shouted to no avail.

I'd had enough.

I'd had enough of being looked at like I was worth less than nothing. I was sick and tired of watching these precious golden Gryffindors preen at their victory while we suffered the loss. I couldn't bear the thought of a year full of hatred and intolerance.

I grabbed Finnigan by the collar of his shirt, reared up, and punched him hard, blood spurting from his nose as it broke under my fist.

Finnigan howled as the blood dripped through his fingers; I could feel Blaise, having been freed from Finnigan's chokehold, and Theo grasping both of my arms as the shouting grew louder.

The Gryffindors were furious, I'd expected no less.

I hadn't expected impressed or afraid.

The situation eventually got back under control as Finnigan's nose was healed.

"I'll be seeing the three of you in detention tomorrow," McGonagall glared at Blaise, Finnigan and I. "Do you have _anything _to say for yourselves?"

I had a few choice things to say, but the better part of my brain kept my mouth shut.

McGonagall sighed. "I suppose that's the end of our lesson for today."

In a strange sort of defeat, the remaining fourteen of us sauntered out of the Great Hall- the others carefully avoiding us former Slytherins- and we headed up to the West Tower in a deafeningly loud silence.

Hey guys! Cass here. If you're enjoying the story so far, why not leave a review?

I'll also hear any comments or constructive criticism if you've got it. Cheers!


	6. Chapter 5: Solidarity

When I was told the West Tower would be converted to the dorms by Granger, I wasn't expecting this.

The first thing I noticed is that there were no House colours anywhere in the common room. The common room, a circular room with evenly spaced windows, had been decorated in mostly in warm brown and bronze. A fire crackled cheerily on the north wall, where two brown leather sofas faced each other on either side, with two mismatched bronze armchairs placed artfully so that the setup looked more like a posh coffee shop than a common room. The south wall was covered in bookshelves, which were filled to bursting with wonderful, hard-cover books- books with golden spindly lettering on the sides, books that looked new and books that looked ancient. I remembered my empty bookshelf in my old home with a pang as I gazed at all of the books, wondering what was there. In front of the bookshelves sat two wooden farmhouse tables, with a jar of quills in the centre of each, a jar of ink on either side. Four chairs were placed at both tables.

The east wall had a staircase which spiraled upwards; a sign on the wall read _Boys Dormitory. _The west wall had an identical spiral staircase with a sign that read _Girls Dormitory._ The railing on the staircases were wrought-iron, with gold newel posts at the foot of the stairs. The floor was dark wood with a luxurious bronze area rug covering all but the south area of the common room.

"This is..." Weasely was looking around in astonishment.

"What?" Pansy had whipped around and sneered before I could stop her. "A bit rich for your blood, Weasley?"

Argument ensued immediately after. I sighed at how horribly cinematic this all was.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Granger walking determinedly over to one of the tables. She yanked out one straight-backed chair and stood on it.

_Exactly _like the cinema. I almost groaned.

"_Everyone_!" She shouted, and the debates ceased as the attention of the fifteen students was drawn over to where Granger was standing in all of her bushy-haired glory.

"This is going to be a little strange at first," Granger told us, still standing on the chair. "But, I think if we all work together-"

"Spare me the details of your friendship-circle plans, _Granger-"_

"_Shut up!" _I shouted, finding myself at the end of my rope. Terry Boot looked abashed at my calling him out and he looked down at his feet.

"Thank you, Roxas," Granger gave me an appreciative nod. I shrugged.

"As I was saying, we all need to work together to make this dormitory work. We have to be nice to each other. We have to get along," Granger looked at every single person. "Can we do that?"

A scattering of murmured affirmations rippled through the group of us.

"Good," she nodded proudly, and stepped down from the chair.

The group broke off at that; Parvati and Padma Patil joined Hannah Abbot in conversation, while Finnigan and Weasley started a game of chess.

Pansy turned to me. "Dorms?"

"Sure," I replied, and followed her up the spiral staircase.

The girls dorms were simple- just a big open room with windows to one wall, with four-poster beds randomly laid on the floor. Pansy and I collected our bags from where Filch had thrown them on the floor by the door and picked out two beds closest to the window.

"Sucks that you've got detention tomorrow," Pansy told me, heaving her trunk up on the bed next to mine and unpacking it. "If you ask me, Finnigan got what he deserves. Plus, you were standing up for Blaise. You're practically my hero."

"I wonder if that breaches my parole," I thought aloud, starting to stuff my shirts into a dresser drawer.

"Doubt McGonagall will say anything," Pansy replied, laying out her shirt and skirt for tomorrow. "What do you think we're going to do about robes? I mean, if we're not in Houses anymore like McGonagall said, and these say Slytherin-"

"I doubt it matters," I interrupted, tucking the transfigured Firewhiskey underneath my pillow. Unfortunately, Pansy caught sight of it.

"Ooh! You brought alcohol! Naughty, naughty, what if you get caught?"

"I won't get caught, I replied, zipping my bag back up and stuffing it under the bed. I moved the Firewhiskey from under my pillow to under the mattress and flopped down on my bed, tucking my arms behind my back.

"What's the deal with Draco, do you think?" I asked suddenly, hoping it wasn't a weird question.

If Pansy thought it was weird, she didn't say anything. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"Like," I sighed and tried to think of what to say. "When he stormed out when we were introducing ourselves. I mean, it was a stupid exercise-"

"A _really _stupid exercise," Pansy muttered while I took a breath.

"-but there was no need to just leave in a rage, was there?" I finished.

"I don't pretend to know what's going on in Draco's head, Roxas," Pansy told me. "I gave up on him a while ago."

"Clearly," I agreed. "Since when have you been dating Blaise? Didn't think you were before...before."

"We ended up in the same rehabiliation program," Pansy told me unashamedly- well, what did she have to be ashamed of? I'd sooner have done rehab than trial any day- "And we just sort of...oh, I don't know...clicked. We just clicked is all."

"Glad for you," I murmured.

"What about you? Boys on the mind?" Pansy giggled.

"I've hardly had time for boys where I've been, haven't I?" I snapped, harsher than I meant.

"Sorry," Pansy said. I immediately felt bad.

"No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped." I heard voices floating up the stairs. "I imagine the rest of the girls are coming up now."

"Ugh," Pansy wrinkled her nose. "I hope Granger's hair situation is genetic and not environmental."

I laughed and chucked a pillow at her head.


	7. Chapter 6: Crash

_I watched again, helpless, as Lavender Brown tried to back away from the advancing werewolf, fear in her wide blue eyes-_

I woke up in a cold sweat.

Once my breathing slowed down I looked out the window. Sunrise. Beautiful, clear sunrise, not prison-bar-obscured sunrise.

Suddenly feeling very much like I didn't deserve this kind of a morning, I got up and headed into the girl's bathroom, carrying my shower caddy with me from three fingers.

There were three shower stalls against one wall, three toilets on another, and three sinks all lined up underneath a large mirror which covered the last wall. The floor and walls were constructed of white marble, and everything in the bathroom looked shiny and clean and _new. _I marveled at the beauty of the room I was standing in before pulling the first shower's curtain back and turning on the hot water.

I groaned aloud as the scalding hot water ran across my shoulders and dripped down my back. It had only been a few days ago that I was showering in the cold, had it really been? All thoughts of other showers and predicaments left my mind as the steam rose around me.

I probably stood under the water for five minutes before remembering that you're actually supposed to be productive in the shower, like, cleaning and things. I remembered my shower caddy sitting on the floor, and quickly washed my hair and actually- oh Lord, what bliss- _shaved _for the first time in forever.

When I was finished, I wrapped my dark green towel around my hair and examined my naked body in the mirror again.

Already I could see the sallowness of my skin fading away. I studied my shoulders through the mirror, how my collarbone jutted out unhealthily, how my cheekbones were just too prominent. My hipbones were almost as sharp as daggers, the way they poked out of my skin.

I heard the soft sounds of the other girls waking up and getting ready; I quickly rubbed my hair dry with the towel and tied my housecoat around my waist so that no one walked in on me checking myself out- there's cocky, and then there's _that._

The door opened as I stuck my toothbrush into the corner of my mouth. Hermione Granger walked up to the sink next to me and wet her toothbrush. "Hey," she said, looking at me out of the corner of her eye.

I nodded in response.

"Did you sleep well?"

My mouth was full of toothpaste. I spit it into the sink. "Alright," I lied. "You?"

"It was weird," Hermione admitted. "Not as easy as I thought."

I shrugged, and then changed the subject. "So we meet with McGonagall for our schedules?"

Hermione brightened a little at being produced a topic that was her forte, so to speak. "Yes! We're meeting her after breakfast"- she eyed her watch- "which is in ten minutes!" She turned the sink off so forcefully I thought the knob would snap and ran out of the bathroom. I put my toothbrush back in my shower caddy and followed her out.

The girls's dormitory was a whirlwind of activity and voices- socks being yanked up, skirts being buttoned, ties being tied- it was a little overwhelming. I hung my shower caddy next to my bed and started dressing quickly, buttoning my white shirt up while simultaneously combing my hair out, which was already starting to curl.

"I just hope they don't make us do Potions," Pansy told me as I stuffed my feet into my black Converse (to hell with regulation dress shoes). "I'm not any better at it than I was last year."

"I'm sure you'll get to pick," I groaned at an ache in my back I hadn't noticed before and finished tying my shoes. "Unfortunately, I think I'm stuck with Potions."

"Ugh. Slughorn," Pansy shuddered. "He makes my skin crawl."

I shrugged and slung my bookbag over my shoulder. "Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Pansy muttered. School was never Pansy's favourite, something the teachers were abundantly aware of.

I followed Pansy down the spiral stairs to see the boy's dormitory was still mostly full. Shouting could be heard from above.

"What do you think is going on?" Pansy asked me, raising an eyebrow.

"I've no idea," I told her, and started to head towards the door. Pansy reluctantly followed.

When we made it down to the Great Hall, it was mostly empty. We took our seats at the Eighth year table, and the other girls sat around us, not as apprehensive as before (well, I hadn't snapped _yet, _so I _must _be safe. Groan). We watched as the boy's slowly filed in, Seamus Finnigan with a hand over his eye.

"What do you suppose happened to Seamus?" Parvati asked her sister, pointing at Seamus, who was approaching the table.

Padma shrugged and buried her spoon in her oatmeal. "Beats me."

"Beat him, more like," I muttered without realizing. Parvati giggled.

We then saw Draco stalk into the Great Hall behind Blaise, looking like he was hunted.

Pansy waved at Blaise, who beamed and walked over with Draco in tow.

"Guess who's joining us in detention later?" Blaise asked me, cocking a thumb at Draco, who scowled and put his head down on the table, pillowed in his folded arms.

"Naughty boy," Pansy giggled. "What did he do?"

"Heard about what happened with Seamus last night and decided to give Roxas a run for her money," Blaise smirked. "And for sneaking around the castle at ungodly hours."

Draco shifted but didn't lift his head up.

"Did you really punch him?" Pansy asked incredulously.

"Didn't _punch _him," Draco muttered.

The food manifested itself on the table at that moment, which allowed our group a small pause as we began the feast.

"Actually, Seamus took a knee to the face," Blaise remarked, stabbing his eggs with a fork, after a few minutes of silence, continuing the conversation from before.

Draco, who had heaved his body off of the table enough to pour himself a cup of coffee and take tiny sips of it, shrugged without looking up.

"Loyal," I offered, licking yogurt off of my spoon.

Draco shrugged again indifferently.

"Anyways," Blaise looked over his shoulder at where Professor McGonagall was walking- uh oh- towards us. "Oh, here we go."

"Good morning, students," she gave us all a tight smile, even Draco, who hadn't even looked up at her arrival. "I've compiled your timetables for you, based on the classes you were taking previously and your progress in said classes."

McGonagall handed Greg, Blaise, Draco and I our timetables.

"Miss Parkinson, you and the rest of your year will get them from me shortly," McGonagall told Pansy, who'd opened her mouth in protest. McGonagall left without another word.

"What was all that about?" Pansy looked a little put out.

I held up my timetable. "Parole timetable. Ministry approved."

"Ugh," Draco said, the first time he'd offered up words instead of having them dragged out of him piece by piece. "Charms class."

"What period?" Blaise asked, studying his own timetable.

"Third."

"I have that too," I frowned. Greg, Blaise, Draco and I lined up our timetables beside each other.

Identical. I don't know why I was surprised.

"Well," Blaise said, apparently unsure of what to say. "I guess I know who to ask about the homework."

Breakfast was coming to a close when the rest of the Eighth years got their timetables.

Pansy turned hers around, as though to examine her paper from a different angle. "How likely do you think it is that we've _all _got the same timetable?"

"You too?" Greg asked, looking at it. She showed all of us. Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, lunch, Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Herbology.

"McGonagall's up to something," I concluded as we stood from the table, pushing the benches in.

oOo

I flopped on my bunk at the end of the day. As far as first days of school went, this ranked somewhere between bad and worst. I could barely remember a word of what any of the teachers had said in their lessons, and now I was going to _detention, _meaning that I couldn't spend any time at all tonight trying to figure it out.

I checked my watch. Fifteen minutes to eight. Not even enough time to read through the first chapter of Transfiguration. It'd be a late night for me.

I changed quickly- dark jeans, white T-shirt that proclaimed _Get Some _in black block lettering, and my plain black cardigan-, stuffed my feet back into my shoes, and shuffled towards the dormitory door.

The common room was mostly empty- Weasley and Dean Thomas were playing chess, but other than that, the room was deserted. I got a dirty look from Thomas and a concerned look from Weasley, neither of which I thought much on as I exited the West Tower, descending the steep steps two at a time.

Detention was being held in what used to be a Charms classroom, now unused. I was the last to arrive- Draco and Blaise were sitting at one of the tables, which gave me no option but to sit next to Seamus, whose nose, in case you'd forgotten, I'd conveniently broken the day previously.

I groaned inwardly. Damn McGonagall.

"Have a seat, Miss Lauridsen," McGonagall gestured to the empty chair next to Seamus, like I hadn't already figured out that I'd be stuck next to him for the next three hours. "As you can see, I've placed some parchment, quills, and ink on your desks," That she did. "We're going to be writing today."

"Lines?" Blaise asked. Draco looked at him sharply, as if to say, _don't suggest that._

"Not today, Mr Zabini," McGonagall explained. "You're going to be writing journal entries."

"Like," Seamus looked horrified. "_Feelings, _and stuff?"

"Precisely, Mr Finnigan, but in particular, you're going to recount the events of yesterday at today which led you to being in detention, and why it was worth it to turn a teambuilding class into a _brawl," _McGonagall looked at all of us sternly. "Although Miss Lauridsen did break your nose, she did not throw the first punch- so to speak," McGonagall perched her hat back on her head and walked briskly to the door.

"You're not staying?" Blaise asked her, and she turned around.

"No, Mr Zabini," she told all of us. "But that doesn't mean you can recreate the melee that occurred yesterday, Mr Filch is just down the hallway. I would prefer if you learned to write it out, rather than punch it out."

With that, McGonagall swept out of the classroom.

Blaise and I stared at each other for a quick second, and then shrugged.

Draco was very intently concentrated on his parchment, while Finnigan was lounging back in his chair, throwing one arm around the back of _my chair. After which, he winked. _

_Winked._ It had been three seconds, and I was already seeing red.

I jerked my chair forwards sharply to dislodge his arm, which it did. I jabbed my quill into the ink and started writing furiously.

_Seamus Finnigan deserved the broken nose and also the black eye because he is an _arse, _an outright fu-_

"Nice," Finnigan remarked about my paper, which he was obviously reading. My quill broke from the tension I was exerting on it.

"Nice face," I spat back, and threw my quill down.

"Finnigan, leave it," Blaise warned, his baritone voice ringing across the classroom.

"She won't go so easy on you this time," Draco added quietly. Surprised at this phrase, I turned and raised an eyebrow. He gave me a small smile.

Progress. And then Seamus ruined it.

"Oh, and you'd all know, wouldn't you?" Finnigan snarled at the other two boys, Irish accent thick in his voice. "Being Death Eater pals and all that."

"If you like the way your arms look now, I'd shut up before I break _them _too," I told him, gripping the desk so tight my knuckles turned white. "I'll show _you _Death Eater pals."

Finnigan sneered at me, but he shut his mouth, looking a little green around the gills. I went back to writing a hopefully-acceptable recount of the nose-breaking incident (embellishing a little on Finnigan's shouting) and shoved the paper away from me.

We sat in wooden silence after that. Once the scratches of quill on paper had stopped, the air became heavy with discomfort. I snuck a glance over at the other table to see that Blaise was _actually _asleep on his desk and that Draco was examining his fingernails like his life depended on it.

The minute that McGonagall told us we could leave, I tore out of my seat as quickly as my legs could take me and was practically running down the hall.

"Lauridsen!"

I stopped in my tracks and turned around. Draco was behind me, looking a little winded, like he'd run after me. He was stooped over with his hands on his knees.

"Yes?" I asked, before kicking myself about how totally vile it had sounded.

"Just," Draco straightened out. "Good shot, I guess."

"Shot?"

"Y'know," Draco mimed being clocked in the nose. "Finnigan."

"I think it was the Death Eater pals that did him in," I replied.

Draco gave a small flash of a smile before turning on his heel and disappearing around the corner.

Damn. I looked up to the ceiling and sighed.

The common room was again empty when I entered the West Tower, the fire burning dim. I bounded up the stairs to the girl's dormitory, where everyone was asleep. I tip-toed across the room to my bunk and peeled off my cardigan.

After a moment's hesitation, I fished the Firewhiskey out from under my mattress.

Did I dare?

I thought about the sneers, the dirty looks, the way the Aurors had grabbed me, Draco turning on his heel and walking away, and the look on McGonagall's face when she saw my Dark Mark, and that answered the question for me.

I unscrewed the cap.


End file.
